LETTER XIX
MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE [IN ANSWER TO LETTER XV.] SAT. MARCH4, 12 O'CLOCK.
Hannah has just now brought me from the usual place your favour ofyesterday. The contents of it have made me very thoughtful; and youwill have an answer in my gravest style.--I to have that Mr. Solmes!--Noindeed!--I will sooner--But I will write first to those passages in yourletter which are less concerning, that I may touch upon this part withmore patience.
As to what you mention of my sister's value for Mr. Lovelace, I am notvery much surprised at it. She takes such officious pains, and it is somuch her subject, to have it thought that she never did, and never couldlike him, that she gives but too much room to suspect that she does. Shenever tells the story of their parting, and of her refusal of him, buther colour rises, she looks with disdain upon me, and mingles anger withthe airs she gives herself:--anger as well as airs, demonstrating, thatshe refused a man whom she thought worth accepting: Where else is thereason either for anger or boast?--Poor Bella! She is to be pitied--shecannot either like or dislike with temper! Would to heaven she had beenmistress of all her wishes!--Would to heaven she had!
As to what you say of my giving up to my father's controul the estatedevised me, my motives at the time, as you acknowledge, were notblamable. Your advice to me on the subject was grounded, as I remember,on your good opinion of me; believing that I should not make a bad useof the power willed me. Neither you nor I, my dear, although you nowassume the air of a diviner, [pardon me] could have believed that wouldhave happened which has happened, as to my father's part particularly.You were indeed jealous of my brother's views against me; or rather ofhis predominant love of himself; but I did not think so hardly of mybrother and sister as you always did. You never loved them; and ill-willhas eyes ever open to the faulty side; as good-will or love is blindeven to real imperfections. I will briefly recollect my motives.
I found jealousies and uneasiness rising in every breast, where allbefore was unity and love. The honoured testator was reflected upon: asecond childhood was attributed to him; and I was censured, as havingtaken advantage of it. All young creatures, thought I, more or less,covet independency; but those who wish most for it, are seldom thefittest to be trusted either with the government of themselves, or withpower over others. This is certainly a very high and unusual devise toso young a creature. We should not aim at all we have power to do. Totake all that good-nature, or indulgence, or good opinion confers,shews a want of moderation, and a graspingness that is unworthy of thatindulgence; and are bad indications of the use that may be made of thepower bequeathed. It is true, thought I, that I have formed agreeableschemes of making others as happy as myself, by the proper discharge ofthe stewardship intrusted to me. [Are not all estates stewardships,my dear?] But let me examine myself: Is not vanity, or secret loveof praise, a principal motive with me at the bottom?--Ought I not tosuspect my own heart? If I set up for myself, puffed up with every one'sgood opinion, may I not be left to myself?--Every one's eyes are uponthe conduct, upon the visits, upon the visiters, of a young creatureof our sex, made independent: And are not such subjected, more than anyothers, to the attempts of enterprisers and fortune-seekers?--And then,left to myself, should I take a wrong step, though with ever so good anintention, how many should I have to triumph over me, how few to pityme!--The more of the one, and the fewer of the other, for having aimedat excelling.
These were some of my reflections at the time: and I have no doubt, butthat in the same situation I should do the very same thing; and thatupon the maturest deliberation. Who can command or foresee events? Toact up to our best judgments at the time, is all we can do. If I haveerred, 'tis to worldly wisdom only that I have erred. If we suffer by anact of duty, or even by an act of generosity, is it not pleasurable onreflection, that the fault is in others, rather than in ourselves?--Ihad much rather have reason to think others unkind, than that theyshould have any to think me undutiful.
And so, my dear, I am sure had you.
And now for the most concerning part of your letter.
You think I must of necessity, as matters are circumstanced, be Solmes'swife. I will not be very rash, my dear, in protesting to the contrary:but I think it never can, and, what is still more, never ought tobe!--My temper, I know, is depended upon. But I have heretofore said,*that I have something in me of my father's family, as well as of mymother's. And have I any encouragement to follow too implicitly theexample which my mother sets of meekness, and resignedness to the willsof others? Is she not for ever obliged (as she was pleased to hint tome) to be of the forbearing side? In my mother's case, your observationI must own is verified, that those who will bear much, shall have muchto bear.** What is it, as she says, that she has not sacrificed topeace?--Yet, has she by her sacrifices always found the peace she hasdeserved to find? Indeed, no!--I am afraid the very contrary. And oftenand often have I had reason (on her account) to reflect, that we poormortals, by our over-solicitude to preserve undisturbed the qualities weare constitutionally fond of, frequently lose the benefits we proposeto ourselves from them: since the designing and encroaching (finding outwhat we most fear to forfeit) direct their batteries against these ourweaker places, and, making an artillery (if I may so phrase it) of ourhopes and fears, play upon us at their pleasure.
* See Letter IX.
** See Letter X.
Steadiness of mind, (a quality which the ill-bred and censorious deny toany of our sex) when we are absolutely convinced of being in the right[otherwise it is not steadiness, but obstinacy] and when it is exertedin material cases, is a quality, which, as my good Dr. Lewen was wont tosay, brings great credit to the possessor of it; at the same time thatit usually, when tried and known, raises such above the attempts ofthe meanly machinating. He used therefore to inculcate upon me thissteadiness, upon laudable convictions. And why may I not think that I amnow put upon a proper exercise of it?
I said above, that I never can be, that I never ought to be, Mrs.Solmes.--I repeat, that I ought not: for surely, my dear, I should notgive up to my brother's ambition the happiness of my future life. SurelyI ought not to be the instrument of depriving Mr. Solmes's relations oftheir natural rights and reversionary prospects, for the sake of furtheraggrandizing a family (although that I am of) which already livesin great affluence and splendour; and which might be as justlydissatisfied, were all that some of it aim at to be obtained, that theywere not princes, as now they are that they are not peers [For when everwas an ambitious mind, as you observe in the case of avarice,* satisfiedby acquisition?]. The less, surely, ought I to give into these graspingviews of my brother, as I myself heartily despise the end aimed at; asI wish not either to change my state, or better my fortunes; and as Iam fully persuaded, that happiness and riches are two things, and veryseldom meet together.
* See Letter X.
Yet I dread, I exceedingly dread, the conflicts I know I mustencounter with. It is possible, that I may be more unhappy from the dueobservation of the good doctor's general precept, than were I toyield the point; since what I call steadiness is deemed stubbornness,obstinacy, prepossession, by those who have a right to put whatinterpretation they please upon my conduct.
So, my dear, were we perfect (which no one can be) we could not behappy in this life, unless those with whom we have to deal (those moreespecially who have any controul upon us) were governed by the sameprinciples. But then does not the good Doctor's conclusion recur,--Thatwe have nothing to do, but to chuse what is right; to be steady in thepursuit of it; and to leave the issue to Providence?
This, if you approve of my motives, (and if you don't, pray inform me)must be my aim in the present case.
But what then can I plead for a palliation to myself of my mother'ssufferings on my account? Perhaps this consideration will carry someforce with it--That her difficulties cannot last long; only tillthis great struggle shall be one way or other determined--Whereas myunhappiness, if I comply, will (from an aversion not to be overcom
e) befor life. To which let me add, That as I have reason to think that thepresent measures are not entered upon with her own natural liking, shewill have the less pain, should they want the success which I think inmy heart they ought to want.
I have run a great length in a very little time. The subject touched meto the quick. My reflections upon it will give you reason to expect fromme a perhaps too steady behaviour in a new conference, which, I find, Imust have with my mother. My father and brother, as she was pleasedto tell me, dine at my uncle Antony's; and that, as I have reason tobelieve, on purpose to give an opportunity for it.
Hannah informs me, that she heard my father high and angry with mymother, at taking leave of her: I suppose for being to favourable to me;for Hannah heard her say, as in tears, 'Indeed, Mr. Harlowe, you greatlydistress me!--The poor girl does not deserve--' Hannah heard no more,but that he said, he would break somebody's heart--Mine, I suppose--Notmy mother's, I hope.
As only my sister dines with my mother, I thought I should have beencommanded down: but she sent me up a plate from her table. I continuedmy writing. I could not touch a morsel. I ordered Hannah however to eatof it, that I might not be thought sullen.
Before I conclude this, I will see whether any thing offers from eitherof my private correspondencies, that will make it proper to add to it;and will take a turn in the wood-yard and garden for that purpose.
***
I am stopped. Hannah shall deposit this. She was ordered by my mother(who asked where I was) to tell me, that she would come up and talk withme in my own closet.--She is coming! Adieu, my dear.